


Avengers Drabbles

by MurphysScribe



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: #coulsonlives, Domestic Fluff, Drabbles, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:41:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurphysScribe/pseuds/MurphysScribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random, cheerful scenes of Avengers in between Epic Alien Battles.<br/>Most of these are based on prompts from Zephrene, written when I should be studying.</p><p>I do not own any of these characters, and only borrow them to amuse myself and others.<br/>Just added: Natasha and Happy meet up in the gym.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve beamed when he came into the common room, holding a folded paper bag "Natasha, you're just the person I wanted to see!"

  Natasha looked up from the novel she had been reading and raised an eyebrow.

 

Steve sat down on the other end of the couch and put the bag on the table between them. "I ran out in Brooklyn today-- and I remembered that Bucky and I used to go to Coney Island, and sometimes on the way back, we stopped at this great bakery in Brighton Beach. When we hadn't spent  _all_ our pennies on skeeball," he said, with a grin, his blue eyes shifting far into the past.

 "The bakery I remember- I think it's the same one anyway--- it's still there! It hasn't changed. So I got us... I got you these Russian danish things"

  He pulled one out of the bag, and offered it to her.

 

"Vatrushka," she said, in wonder, at the ring pastry, stuffed with cottage cheese and jam.

 

She broke into a grin. "spasibo! I did not know there was a place to get them here!"

 

 She untangled herself from the couch, setting the pastry down with something like regret. "I will make us tea," she said, going to unearth the imported black tea she liked, and the delicate, floral teacups she saved for occasions that were both memorable and reasonably calm.


	2. Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A team-bonding Avengers fic, as per Zeph's request

It was a Saturday night in New York, and no criminal masterminds or aliens were attacking. (It was entirely possible that the alien robot squadron that had blown through on Wednesday, and the deranged scientist in the Bronx on Friday were it for the week. Slow week!)

Without the world to save, the various members of the team found themselves drifting toward the floor in the Tower that had become their common room. Clint and Pepper were doing the dishes from dinner, having waved off Tony's protest that they were making the dishwasher jealous. (Knowing Tony's penchant for AIs, they probably were.) Coulson sat on one of the high stools by the kitchen counter, keeping them company. (Earlier, Clint had swiped the agent's paperwork, and wouldn't tell him which air duct he'd stashed it in.) 

Natasha had one side of a sectional couch (where she could see all the room's entrances) and was reading a Tom Clancy novel, occasionally snorting and swearing in Russian under her breath. Steve sat on the floor below her, with his sketchpad propped on his knees. On the other side of the couch, Tony was engrossed in something on his StarkPad. Bruce was stretched out on half of the couch opposite, his grip on a scientific journal loosening as heavy eyelids started to drift closed. 

Thor was reclined in the Barcalounger loveseat he'd decided was one of his top 5 Midgardian favorite things, after Jane and Pop Tarts, in that order. He had headphones on, and his eyes closed. Earlier in the week, he'd discovered Wagnerian opera. The team had, swiftly thereafter, provided an iPod for the Norse god's personal use. It had become his fourth favorite Midgardian thing. 

 

"I can't sketch you if you keep looking up at me!" Steve broke the silence. "Tony... are you plotting something?" Natasha, Coulson and Pepper snorted, almost in unison.

"Just doing research," Tony murmured, eyeing Captain America speculatively. "Did you go to the movies much, when you were a kid?"

"Only a few times- mostly, we didn't have the money for it. I did get to see The Wizard of Oz, though. It was... just... wow."

"We need to introduce you to Pink Floyd at some point..." Tony murmured. "Okay, no, getting distracted. Anyway. So, I'm betting, Casablanca, that was a no, right?"

"I've heard of it..." Steve said, dubiously. 

"And Citizen Kane?"

Steve's blank look was answer enough.

Dishes finished, Pepper, Clint and Phil joined them. "I've never seen either of those," Clint admitted. 

Tony looked personally offended. "Really??? And you don't have the excuse of being a capsicle for decades."

Clint shrugged and flopped onto the empty side of the couch perpendicular to Bruce, who was well and truly asleep.  
Pepper lifted Tony's legs up with a murmured "Couch hog!" and settled in, swatting him when he tried to put his legs back. Natasha scooted back to make room for Coulson on her end.

"Play it, JARVIS, play it one more time," Tony said to the air.

"Certainly sir," came the disembodied voice, as a screen rolled down from the wall, the lights dimmed, and a drawing of a map filled the screen.


	3. Imagine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Found a prompt on Dreamwidth of "Imagine All the People" and came up with this.

They were sprawled in the common room at Stark Tower, enjoying a rare moment when no monsters or alien robots were trying to make the city explode. Clint and Natasha entwined on one couch, Tony stretched on the other with his StarkPad, Bruce and Steve sketching plans for something complex, mechanical, possibly violent. Coulson doing paperwork. Thor was making microwave popcorn, a task he approached with a certain demented glee, but who's going to argue with a god who has a hammer?  
Tony jolted upright, snapped out of his reverie, and pinned Steve with a glance: "You have no idea who the Beatles are! No idea who John Lennon is!"  
  
Everyone stared at Tony. Steve stammered "wait... um, I think I remember?" He sifted through the facts and details they'd all tried to cram into his brain to bring him up to speed. "A band, right?"  
  
"A band? More than a band! They were bigger than Elvis... wait, that's also before-- after-- your time. Bigger than... Glen Miller! Bigger than Jesus Christ!" Tony had gotten to his feet. "JARVIS, cue up the Beatles, Ed Sullivan, 1964. No... wait... John Lennon, Imagine, just the audio."  
"Right away sir," came the disembodied voice.  
  
The slow piano chords filled the room.   
  
Steve listened attentively at first, like there was going to be a quiz, but he relaxed into the melody, smiling slowly.  
 _"You may say I'm a dreamer... but I'm not the only one. Perhaps someday you'll join me, and the world can live as one..._  
  
"That's nice. I like this."  
Tony still had the manic gleam in his eyes. "Okay, we'll start here. And next week, I'm playing you Hendrix!"


	4. Avengers Put on a Puppet Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers go to a library and make puppets with kids. Relentlessly cute arts and crafts.

Steve came into the common room with a laundry basket full of socks and old t-shirts. “Capsicle, lay off the menial labor, that’s what robots are for,” Tony said with a grandiose wave of his hand.

“Guess again, Billionaire Genius,” said Clint, following Steve with two shopping bags. Tony crowded up to Clint to peer into the shopping bags, where he saw a tangle of yarn, a few bottles of glue, felt, ribbons and paper, tennis and ping pong balls.

Tony frowned. “I don’t even…what?”

“You ready to go? Tasha’s got the van downstairs,” said Bruce, popping out of the elevator with a handful of stained lab coats.

“What kind of fun are you having without me?” Tony asked.

“Heading out to the library in Rockaway, to hang out with the kids there, and make puppets,” supplied Clint.

“Do you want to come?” Steve asked, a little dubiously. As much as Tony was sometimes an overgrown kid, this kind of schlepping out to outer Queens to do arts and crafts didn’t seem like his thing.

“Are you kidding? I am all over this! Just let me grab a few things from downstairs, in case we meet cool kids who like science!”

“Why do I think ‘robot puppets’ are going to be happening?” Bruce asked.

“Hey, keep a better leash on your science bro if you’re worried about robot puppets. Robot Puppets would be a good band name,” said Clint, and then trailed off.

Tony emerged with two tool boxes and a manic grin.

 It was Steve’s turn to peer dubiously. “Are you sure these are age-appropriate tools? We’ve got kids as young as four involved in this.”

“Pshh, Grandpa, relax, I got this. I’ll keep the tools over with the ten and up crowd.”

“Shotgun,” Clint called as they got down to the van. Coulson leaned out the passenger side with a smug little wave. “Nope.”

“I thought you were doing paperwork? Why aren’t you doing paperwork?” Clint groused, sitting in the seat behind his handler, and bracing his feet on the armrest of Coulson’s seat. Coulson swatted his hand.

They drove out to Rockaway, where they could still see damage and debris from Hurricane Sandy.

 

“Just so we’re clear,” Tony said “I’m not doing glitter. I don’t do glitter. Stuff gets everywhere. It’s like some kind of alien parasite.” He stopped, and gave Coulson a sharp look. “ _Is_ glitter an alien parasite, Agent?”

“You don’t have that level of clearance,” Coulson said, his tone mild.

 

Natasha snorted. “I’ll keep you safe from the big bad… glitter,” she said archly, as they unloaded their supplies and headed into the library.

Kids swarmed them as they got in, despite librarians and Coulson working to keep order. Bruce doled out paintbrushes and lab coats. They set to work with yarn and paint and glue and fabric and, yes, even glitter. Steve made intricate animal faces out of felt and markers. Tony took one look at the puppet theater and made plans to build a better one and have it delivered. With lights! Yeah!  Natasha started teaching the littler ones Russian and French nursery rhymes, earning a surprised eyebrow and shrug that passed between Coulson and Clint.  And yes, robot puppets happened. As did a dragon puppet with painted stripes and wing nuts for scales. . Nobody told Tony when he got glitter in his hair. Coulson cut construction paper and felt the way he did everything, with nearly eerie precision. There was a Hulk puppet, after a five year old girl snatched a bright green sock and streaked it with purple and black paint, crowing that the Hulk was her “most favoritest.” Bruce found the drawing he’d been working on suddenly blurred. Tony found himself clearing his throat over a sock festooned with red and yellow fabric, winking with bits of tin foil. It swooped through the air on a seven year old boy’s hand, as he made “whoosh, pow! Pow!” noises.

Coulson took him aside. “Just FYI, they’re mostly too young to have any idea that you’re Iron Man. Superheroes are real to them, separate people.”

“Um. Ok. Yeah.” Tony said, gruffly. He busied himself with bits of metal until he thought he could talk around the lump in his throat. Clint had a streak of orange paint on his nose, blue paint splotched up both arms, and kids on either side of him, gluing yarn and buttons onto sock puppets in progress.

Later, all of the kids used the puppets to tell a story about a dragon who liked to chase people but not eat them , and Avengers who swooped in to save princesses… something to do with Peter Pan was also involved, as was something to do with the ocean… the Avengers weren’t entirely keeping track but it made the kids laugh.

Paint-stained and happy, the team piled back into the van. 

"Take the exit for Astoria on the way back," Tony directed. "I'm feeling souvlaki."


	5. So, The Avengers Walk Into a Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin. Avengers go to a bar near Stark Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author has only vague knowledge of how pool playing works... I'm a terrible pool player, and only have a vague notion of the rules. So I faked it a bit. The important part: Phil's really good. And Steve is better than he lets on.

They staggered back to the Tower. They’d had worse fights: nobody needed medical, and they weren’t covered in acid, venom or alien slime. But still. When Clint said “So, I’m thinking… beer. And I’m thinking bar?” nobody argued. Except Steve, who wanted to make sure that wherever they went served food, and lots of it. It was decided they’d adjourn to Connelly’s, which had everything they wanted. Decent beer (Clint, Phil and Natasha) not too much ambient noise or crowds (Bruce and Natasha) giant nacho plates (Steve) Scotch and waitresses with cleavage (Tony).

“Huh, this is new,” Clint said, eyeing the dart board and the pool table, which had appeared since his last visit to the place, but already looked as weathered as though they’d been there for years. “Food first,” said Steve, pulling Clint along.

There was the usual mix up when their drinks arrived, and Steve and Bruce sipped, made horrified faces, and switched, while the others drank their beers without comment.  Cranberry and soda  (Bruce) was easy enough to confuse with a Shirley Temple (“Cap, you’re the only one I know who can drink a Shirley Temple unironically.” “Shut up, Tony.”) when both came in pint glasses. When the food arrived, silence fell.

After making short work of a burger and fries, Clint began eyeing the dart board speculatively. Phil slid out of the booth when Clint’s leg started jiggling. “Go,” he said. “But no hustling the frat boys. Or you,” he gave Natasha a warning scowl. Natasha refastened the blouse buttons she’d undone, and tried to look like someone who hadn’t been planning to throw a knife or two to make things more interesting.  “We want to be able to come back here for the good onion rings,” he scolded them. “So I’d rather we didn’t bruise any egos or break any furniture, hm?”

                “I’m sensing a story about Natasha being terrifying,” Tony said over his beer.

                Phil smirked. “No more than usual, and in her defense, it wasn’t entirely her fault. There were a few truckers who got into her personal space in Wyoming during that one op. I turned my back for a few minutes, and it was like something out of a Western, they were knocked out, and so were at least five chairs.”

                “Her personal space _is_ the size of Wyoming,” Tony retorted, with a shiver that was mostly theatrical. He shot a curious look at Steve, who was counting out quarters. “I don’t think they have Benny Goodman on the jukebox,” he said.

                Steve rolled his eyes. “I was thinking pool, actually.”

                Bruce perked up. “I could be in favor of that. “

                “Huh, I haven’t played pool since the Rangers. The pool table at the barracks was so old nobody could shoot straight.” Phil said.

                “I haven’t played since my army days either, which is a good few decades longer ago than you,” Steve joked.

                “So Team Science Bros versus Team Ancient Army Dudes?” Tony said. He pushed Steve’s quarters away. “No reason you should pay to get embarrassed. I got this.” He went to get change.

                Steve and Phil snorted practically in unison, and shared an eyeroll with Bruce, then they went to get cues.

                Tony racked the balls. Steve broke. His shot wobbled a little, but he sank a striped ball, then missed his next shot.

                “Man, you are rusty. Behold the power of physics!” Tony crowed, moving around the table, and sinking two solid colored balls on one shot before scratching and swearing.

                Phil rolled up his sleeves, chalked his cue, positioned the cue ball, and proceeded to nearly run the table, straightening up with a wry grin. “Not as rusty as I thought?”

                “Agent’s a pool shark!” Tony crowed.

                “You want to take over, Bruce?”

                “No, go for it, I know when I’m in the presence of a master.”

                Phil sank the remaining colored balls, and then couldn’t do anything about the eight ball, so he bowed out to retrieve his beer, and watch Bruce approach the pool table like it was a series of equations he was trying to solve. It was interesting to watch him make each shot, his shoulders rising and falling under his shirt in a deep breath that would have suited a yoga studio more than the dive bar playing blues over the speakers.  After they took turns chasing the 8 ball around the table for a while, Steve finally sank it on a shot that had Bruce tilting his head to one side. “Does the super serum make you immune to physics?”

                Steve laughed and clinked the dregs of his pink drink against Bruce’s glass in a toast, then they all shook hands.

                They went over to investigate the darts game.

                “Tables intact, good job, you two,” Phil observed.

                “Do not make such comments while my hands are full of sharp objects,” Natasha retorted.

                They were finishing up a game of 500 with a pair of gents who looked like they could have been Steve’s contemporaries, the first time around, and who were losing with cheerful grace.

                They decided against another round of drinks, and headed home, well pleased with their evening.

                “Hey, when Thor comes back, we should go for karaoke again…” Clint suggested.

               

                


	6. Snakes!!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team recovers from battling the Serpent Society. And then there is snark.

 

“Just to recap- we just fought the Serpent King and the Secret Serpent Society. I can’t believe that was even a thing! Snakes are scary, granted. But what I want to know is, does SHIELD’s protocol for supervillains include counseling for them? Because, yow, Freudian!”

They were all in the common room, (minus Bruce, still zonked post-Hulk) in various stages of decompressing post-battle. They were mostly ignoring Tony’s rant, though Clint smirked.

                “What are we thinking about dinner?” Steve asked. He’d already wolfed down a post-battle sandwich, but super soldier.

                “I could cook,” Phil offered from the armchair he had claimed. But he didn’t get up, or open his eyes, and he didn’t even manage to convince himself.

                “Not cooking!” Clint said from the couch, where he and Tasha were sprawled.

                “Also, not moving,” she added. One of the snakes, proving surprisingly prehensile, had tossed her towards a building. Hulk had caught her in time, but, she was pretty sure she was going to be made of bruises tomorrow.

                “Takeout it is. Hey, JARVIS, what did we have the last time we fought supervillains?”

                “That was Tuesday, and you ordered Indian, sir.”

                “Pizza okay?”

                There were murmurs of assent from couches and chairs. “Call in the usual order,” Tony said, levering himself up from his chair.

                “It is already done, sir, and Adriatic will deliver in 30 minutes.”

                “You’re a genius, JARVIS, and I’m a genius for building you,” Tony said. He texted Bruce to let him know there’d be a large veggie pie with his name on it when he woke up from his post Other Guy nap.

                They went back to sprawling.

                After a few minutes, the sound of rustling paper and crinkling cellophane from Tony side of the sectional roused enough curiosity that they turned to look at him. “Gummy worm?” he offered the bag with a grin.

                “Wait- what? When did you… did you stop for _snacks_ on the way back here?” Steve asked, trying to picture Iron Man in his suit going into a bodega. He leaned over to reach into the bag and snag a couple of gummies.

                “Got sour ones too,” Tony said, which wasn’t exactly an answer.

                “Sour? Awesome! Gimme!” Clint levered himself up and made grabby hands at the bag, which Tony tossed his way.

                Somehow, as tired as she was, Tasha managed to chew the worms vindictively.

                Steve snagged a handful of worms and chewed. And chewed. He looked down at his remaining worms dubiously, and then handed them off to Coulson, clearly unimpressed.

                “Try a sour one!” Clint offered. “They’re really sour.”

Steve took one, and the rest of the team laughed tiredly at the faces he made. “How do they _do_ that? More to the point, why???” He pulled a face, sticking out his tongue.

“What’d I miss?” murmured Bruce, padding into the room barefoot and giving Steve’s face a curious look.

“Cap’s first encounter with sour gummies. And pizza’ll be here in 15. Want one?” Clint offered the bag.

“These are the sour ones? I’ll pass.”

Phil offered him the bag of normal gummies, and the normally placid Bruce bit two gummy worms at the head end with relish.

“I would eat rattlesnake again,” Natasha murmured.

“It’d probably taste better if we didn’t have people shooting at us,” Phil replied.

“I could find out how to cook it,” Clint waved a hand  vaguely.

“Why would you want to eat rattlesnake?” Tony asked. “I bet they’re all bony- it’s like something you eat just to say you did.”

“They taste like chicken,” Clint and Phil said, nearly in unison.

“Pfft, so why not just eat chicken?” Tony  answered.

“Says the man who orders uni when we get sushi,” Bruce shot back. “I swear you only do that because it’s orange, slimy and so you can say you’re eating a sea urchin.”

“Dude that’s so different, uni is awesome!”

The pizzas arrived, derailing what could have been some ridiculous bickering.

The team stuffed themselves happily, then returned to the couches and chairs.

“So, movie?”

JARVIS’s voice, as always, came from the direction of the ceiling. “Based on your earlier discussion, gentlemen, and Natasha, I took the liberty of selecting a film I thought you might enjoy.”

                As the credits rolled, stunned gasps were followed by laughter.

                _“Snakes on a Plane???”_

 

 

 


	7. Ballerina Hulk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluff, based on this cosplay: http://mydisguises.com/2013/03/08/adorable-hulk-ballerina-costume/

Tony and Bruce were in the lab. They'd compromised on the music (Led Zeppelin) and Bruce was peering at a 3-D visualization from JARVIS while Tony did something on his laptop.

A gasp from Tony penetrated Bruce's concentration. "What on earth? Where did this...? Oh man, this is too perfect!" He was laughing, so Bruce relaxed.

"What?" Bruce asked.

Tony tilted his laptop so Bruce could see.

It was a picture of a little girl in costume. As... The Other Guy, some kind of green molded foam chest. And her lower half was...

"Is she wearing a Hulk costume... and a tutu?" He took his glasses off, rubbed at them, put them back on. He didn't know his grin could be this huge- he felt like his mouth was Hulk-sized so it could contain the smile.

"Look at her smile," Tony said. "Look how happy she is to be the Hulk.... and a Princess" He glanced at Bruce to see how he was taking it. "OK, two things as an FYI- One: I'm going to show the rest of the team. and Two: I already know you won't let me make a tutu for the Other Guy, though I can't promise I won't start working on a tiara."

"Mmhm," Bruce was only half-listening. Feelings were flooding through him, insistent and pervasive. It was like the wordless rush of feeling before he saw the world in shades of green. But this... was different. Not rage and anger. Just happiness... and a rush of love for this kid he'd never meet. 

"Hey Tony, do me a favor... save this... and if you get a chance... could you show...?"

Tony's smile was the gentlest Bruce had ever seen.  
"I'd be happy to- I think he's gonna love it!"

A few months later, a mailing tube arrived at the home of a five year old girl who'd played dress up at ComicCon. The return address label said STARK Industries, much to her parents confusion. When they unrolled the contents, they found a large poster in finger paints- a green body in the center, with a smear of black hair, and streaks of purple streaming out from its legs.  
HULK PRETTY had been scrawled in sloping letters across the top.


	8. Part of this complete....?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not quite breakfast for dinner- it's breakfast for some post-midnight stupid o'clock can't sleep snack.

Tony emerged from the lab, headed to the kitchen. He was sort of feeling a little munchy, and planning a good rummage through the cupboards. Salty or sweet? Wasn't sure what he needed.

His mind was so focused on nanites and equations that he practically tripped over Clint, who was leaning against the counter, and hadn't seen him, because he had a bowl turned up to his face, and was slurping the last of the milk from his bowl.

"Cereal! Awesome idea, Ceiling Cat." Tony grabbed a bowl and reached his arm out to grab the box. "What are you doing awake?" He paused for a second. "... is it still Wednesday?"

"Couldn't sleep," Clint said, turning away to the sink to wash his bowl. Of the team, Clint was the least inclined to let Tony's bots and AIs do housekeeping chores.

Tony looked at the box, which was covered in cartoon figures and his brain, which had been mostly thinking science things, caught up to the images. "Hey wait- is this _us cereal?_ " There was a giant A on the box, surrounded by Cap's shield, his mask, a green man-figure, arrows, and a red spider. The shapes of the marshmallows, he guessed, and confirmed, digging a hand into the box and grabbing a handful. He crunched. Not bad, clearly a knock off of Lucky Charms. He looked at the box, had the passing thought that he felt like a cannibal.

"Pep must've brought this from that licensing meeting!" Tony marveled. "Any good with milk?" he asked Clint, who was drying his bowl.

"Pretty decent. Hoping it'll knock me out." He yawned and cracked his neck. "Ugh, it's, what, 3:30? I so don't want to be awake."

Tony was peering at him quizzically, because the equation didn't balance. "Like, this sugar bomb will put you to sleep, you're saying?"

Clint wandered over to the sectional couch, grabbing a blanket on the way. He flopped down. "That is, in fact, my cunning plan."

"But... sugar? Saturday morning cartoons? Sleep? The what now?"

Eyes closed, Clint waved him away. "Blood sugar crash should put me right out," he murmured.

Tony stared at him a moment longer, then grabbed another handful of the eponymous cereal before he padded off to bed, realizing his eyes were heavy. Unlike Clint, he was going to brush his teeth before he zonked out. Man, those were some sugary marshmallows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Avengers cereal amuses me... and because sugar cereal completely zonks me out. I can't be the only one on this!


	9. Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Steve was little, his mother told him thunder was the sound of angels bowling.
> 
> Now that the Asgardian God of Thunder is sometimes his housemate?  
> Not so much.

When Steve was little, his mother comforted him during thunderstorms by rubbing his back and telling him it was the sound of angels bowling. Later, when it was just the two of them, Bucky had said the same thing. And, even though he'd long outgrown children's stories, the familiar words had been comforting. 

He'd been under fire somewhere in France with the Howling Commandoes when DumDum made them all laugh (maybe a little hysterically) with a crack about the angels bowling.

And now, in a life that he sometimes thought of as After, full of impossibly tiny precise computers and JARVIS's ever-helpful disembodied voice, Steve could instantly know anything he wanted about the science of thunderstorms: from pressure systems to nationwide weather patterns and statistical trends. He could even look up (and had) the first time anyone used the phrase "Angels bowling" to explain it.

_**BOOOM!!! Ke-RACK!!!** _

As thunder boomed outside, Steve clutched his pillow over his head, trying to muffle his poor serum-enhanced ears. _Now_ , he was living with the God of Thunder, a friendly giant bear of a superpowered alien. He could hear Thor's voice in between booms, declaiming praise for "Friend Tony!" Steve also thought he heard a few wayward snatches of epic poetry being composed.

Muttering curses under his breath, Steve grabbed a second pillow and stuffed his head under both of them. He'd thought about earplugs, but anything sturdy enough to block out thunder like this would also block out noises, like alerts, that needed his more immediate attention, and that made him nervous.

_**BOOOM!!! BOOM!!! BOOMBOOM!!!** _

Steve had been a soldier since before the rest of his team (except Thor, of course) was born. He got it, he really did, the team's need to blow off steam after a battle. Really, he got it. He even joined them most nights. Once or twice, he'd even tried a cup of Thor's mead, on the theory that it might let him feel at least some of the buzz his team was enjoying. (No luck: It tasted so vile he couldn't choke enough down to have an effect.)

Steve burrowed further under his pillows. 

He really wished the consequences weren't so... noisy when Thor got... hammered.


	10. Building a Better Punching Bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Tony finds out how many punching bags Steve has destroyed, he decides it's time for SCIENCE to lend a hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of an offshoot of "How Bruce Banner Got a Yoga Studio." Which I will finish. At some point.   
> The Avengers are all living in Avengers Tower, communal spaces, including workout space. Probably movie nights. Probably giving their egos a rest on alternate not-saving-the-world days. So there we are.

The soothing rhythms of punching drills ended abruptly in a shower of sand, as the punching bag exploded. Steve took a deep breath and flexed his fists. He felt calmer. Maybe, he'd--

"That is just...absolute _bullshit."_ A voice cut across his thoughts. Tony. Tony circled him, standing clear of the fallen sand. Clint and Bruce, who'd been sparring on the other end of the gym, came closer. "OK, setting aside for a moment how long a national icon was living in crappy SHIELD barracks, which amounts to treason, when there's a Tower ready and waiting right here...." _  
_

("Hey, Tasha and I were living in crappy SHIELD barracks, too," Clint interjected, but Tony waved him away.)

"Setting that aside," Tony continued, "let us also take a moment to consider that said national icon, living in a facility that has a lucrative contract with Stark Industries- was still too shortsighted, tightfisted, and let's put it plainly, dumb, to give said national icon access to and benefit from, Stark Industries expertise to design better tools to hone his nationally iconic supersoldierness and unflappable demeanor in the face of us other misfit toys. To sum up: bullshit. And this needs fixing." His gaze on Steve became slightly manic. "Capsicle, what, other than nostalgia, and habit keeps you using these same sand punching bags?"

Steve opened his mouth to answer, but Tony cut him off. "No. Better if you show me. To the lab! It's time for SCIENCE! Brucie, I need some science bro action on this."

And that was that. They barreled into the lab, trailed by Clint, who was curious.

"Jarvis," Tony called out "where do I have Cap stand to get the best 360 camera coverage and motion sensors lined up?" A square on the floor lit up in red and blue. Tony pushed Steve into it.

"Thank you, Jarvis," Steve said, looking at the ceiling.

"DUM-E! Get over here!" Tony called, and the robot that was mostly an arm wheeled over. "Grab this. Don't drop it, no matter what." Tony handed the robot the bag. He put his own fists up then nodded for Steve to do the same. Steve got into his fighting stance, and Tony yanked the robot to get the punching bag into the right position.

At first, Steve felt awkward, with Tony and Bruce, Clint and the robots, all staring at him. But his body took over, his fists flying. Familiar rhythms helped him ignore the flow of blue lit numbers and graphs he could see forming and flowing at the edges of his vision. He heard, but ignored, their murmured voices, muted beeps. His muscles were warm, warm and loose, and he could go for hours. One, two, one, two. The telltale rip sound before the bag exploded and he stepped out of the shower of sand.

Bruce handed Steve a towel, and he mopped his face, stepping clear of the small robot scooting around his feet and sucking up fallen sand. "Thanks," he said, barely out of breath. He heard a chirping just behind him, and turned, to receive a bottle of water from a second robot. "Thank you." he said, gravely. 

He stepped back and looked at the numbers and graphs projected all around him. There were also 3-D renderings of the punching bag, and one of him, animated to show his punching. Looking at the drawings, the graphs and equations almost made sense... kind of.

"So if that took... there, there and there... and it was brand new?" Bruce consulted his StarkPad and then touched spots on the projection, which lit up bright green. "It was new, right?" he looked over the tops of his glasses at Steve, who nodded. "So... the velocity, and the impact... you'd need something with tensile strength..."

"Density to absorb the force and still feel real..." said Tony, reaching across Bruce to point out some equations, which lit up red in the projections. "Nanites?"

"I don't think that's the issue- I think it's about what the bag itself is made of."

"I've got it I've got it I've got it!" Tony crowed. "Hulk Pants!"

"Wait, what?" Clint said, before Steve could form pretty much the same question.

"Bruce and I have been working on this- but things have been so quiet on the alien invasion front (about which I am  _so_ not complaining, hear that, universe!) that we haven't had a test run yet. Super stretchy material that can take both Bruce and Other Guy proportions, and so no more waking up bare assed in Chinatown. Unless there's far too much sake involved. Should probably also work if you punch the crap out of it."

"Wait, what?" Clint said, again. Bruce dropped his head into his hands but didn't say a word. 

"That sounds like it could work..." Steve said, gamely ignoring the part about the sake and the asses.

Tony reached into the projected diagrams, grabbed the punching bag one and batted at it until it was next to a column of equations. "J, what do you think- can you talk the bots through this?"

"Certainly, sir. It's a straightforward design," said the voice from the ceiling.

"Thank you Jarvis, and um, robots!" said Steve. He heard beeping and whirring from various points around the room, and the one with the arm bobbed at him. He grinned back. "And Tony and Bruce."

"I do it all for America," Tony said with a theatrical bow. "So- no need for nanites on this one," he said. "Gotta say, I'm disappointed. But we should have something set up to test by tomorrow. And now, I'm thinking... Thai food?"

 


	11. Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Natasha and some late-night ice cream  
> This was written as a birthday present for Zephrene! (Belatedly.)

Tony soldered the last piece of the leg-plate into place, and straightened up, turning the movement into a stretch as his back popped and creaked. “J, turn down the music please,” he said, and Ozzy’s voice dropped below ear-splitting. “What time is it?”

“It is 2:52, sir,” came the clipped British tones.

“A.M. or P.M?” Tony asked.

“It is 2:53 in the morning, and sir has been in the lab since 7 PM,” JARVIS said, disapproval seeping into his clipped British tones.

“Huh. No wonder I’m hungry,” Tony shrugged.

“It might possibly also behoove sir to think about sleep in the near future,” JARVIS added, coolly.

“Has Pepper been programming you again, J?” Tony scoffed. He raked a hand through his hair, and wiped the rest of the machine grease off onto a towel before heading upstairs to the common areas.

The large, open-plan room was lit only by the ambient light seeping through the large windows from the city that kept even longer hours than Tony Stark. Tony padded into the kitchen area, and opened the freezer. He had about half a pint of mint chocolate ice cream stashed in there. (Not just any mint chocolate- super dark small batch crazy stuff made in Bushwick.) He reached in and grabbed it. It felt heavier than usual- he thought he’d eaten more of it last time.

He opened the container. Full. The hell? Had he dreamed eating the ice cream three nights ago? He shrugged. He’d had weirder dreams.

He wandered over to the comfy chair by the window with his spoon and his snack, and dug in.

Chili-spiced Mexican chocolate was Tony’s second favorite flavor from the ice cream place. _But not when he was expecting chocolate mint._ Still making what Darcy had once termed “cat-faces,” Tony went back to the freezer to replace the pint he’d grabbed by mistake.

“I have your ice cream, Tony. I am sorry that I took it by mistake,” said a voice behind him. Tony jumped, and made a perfectly manly startled noise that did not in any way sound like a squeal. He whirled and found Natasha, standing in the semi-darkness with a pint and a spoon.

“Jesus! You scared me! Three in the morning is _not_ the time for scary super spy assassin stealth!” Tony exclaimed.

“It is, however, the time for ice cream?” she said, with the quirk of an eyebrow.

“Breakfast of champions!” Tony proclaimed. “Dinner of champions? Midnight snack of champions?” he rambled before subsiding, as he and Natasha traded pints. “Minty goodness. Much better.”

He leaned against the corner of the kitchen counter. “So how’d these guys get on your radar?” He peered through the semidarkness at Natasha, who had hopped up to sit on the kitchen island, swinging her feet.

“Steve found them on a run- apparently, they’re in a place he remembers being a soda fountain.”

“Mind if I pull the lights up a little?” Tony asked. “Shadowy figure Natasha is kind of scaring me.”

“As you like,”

“Lights, J?” Tony said softly. And, when he could see Natasha properly in the dim light, he started laughing, until his legs folded and he sat down in the corner.

“Is there a problem?” Natasha peered down at him dubiously. He looked up at her, and that set him off again.

“Where on earth did you get Power Puff Girl pajamas?” he managed, when he’d gotten his breath back.

“From Darcy and Clint.” She smiled, closer to an actual grin than Tony had ever seen.

“Makes sense,” Tony nodded and ate ice cream.

After a little while, they put their respective pints back in the freezer “on separate shelves, could we please?” Tony cautioned, and padded off to their respective beds.


	12. Midnight Snacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tries to sleep, for once. He can't.  
> Natasha can't sleep either.  
> They go for a midnight snack downtown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a continuation of Ice Cream, the previous drabble.  
> Veselka is a real place in NYC. Their food is delicious!

_He was heavy. Water rushing past. Dragging him down. Hollow noises rushing all around the suit and its heaviness. Stars exploding across his gaze, winking out one by one. Can't move can't breathe can't...._

Tony thrashed awake, gasping. It took a moment or three to realize he was tangled up in scarlet sheets, Pepper snoring softly next to him. (Yes, the impeccable Pepper snored, a secret only Tony and JARVIS knew, and Tony only sometimes fantasized about revealing to TMZ or Forbes.)

Ugh. Nightmare. Tony sat up carefully, rubbed hands over his face. The room was lit by the blue glow of the arc reactor, his own personal nightlight.The blue light looked entirely too watery. He pulled a shirt on, slid his sockless feet into the nearest pair of ratty sneakers and padded out the door and up to the common area.

Snack? He wasn't sure yet. Book? Movie? Maybe.

He was still undecided when JARVIS spoke softly: "Natasha is on her way up, Sir. "

"Thanks, JARVIS. She know I'm here?"

"Of course, Sir."

When the elevator opened, Tony made sure he wasn't standing in any ominous shadows. "Hey, Nat," he called out softly, as she padded into the kitchen. "You couldn't sleep?"

She wasn't wearing any cartoon emblems tonight, a shirt and yoga pants that had faded from black to dark charcoal with many washings. She slid onto a stool near the kitchen island.

"I was asleep. And then I was not. And I could not sleep again," she said. 

Tight lines around her mouth told him what her terse words didn't: probably she'd had a nightmare too. And she wasn't going to talk about it.

"So I have an idea. Instead of staring at each other while we eat ice cream and brood like Bruce Wayne, let's get outta here. I'm thinking diner. You got shoes on?"

She gaped at him. "A diner at this hour? It is three in the morning."

"Exactly! Perfect time for a diner run. A proud American tradition. Grab your shoes and let's do this thing. I have just the place," he said, a plan taking shape. "I'm driving."

"Where is this place?...Have you slept?"

"Yes, I'm very well rested," Tony protested, all wounded innocence. "I got five hours. Six if you count zonking out for an hour after the fight with the mutant slugs this morning. It's in the East Village, and you're gonna love it. They have pierogis. And milkshakes! Shoo! Go get your shoes already!"

He barely had time to worry that she was going to bail on him or go back to sleep before Natasha returned, having donned shoes and a fleece jacket.

They headed to the garage level, where Tony hopped into his current favorite convertible, and Natasha slid into the passenger seat. 

The streets were nearly empty as Tony headed East and downtown towards 9th Street. Just a few cabs taking club kids home or to another party. When Natasha asked for more information about where they were going, he waved her off. "You'll see. It has pierogis. Just work with that."

He found a parking spot right near Veselka, and led her in.

They grabbed a table where Natasha had a seat by the wall and a clear view of the exits. Tony handed her a menu and waited for her reaction.

"They have bigos? And golubetsy?" she marveled.

Tony had no idea what the second thing she said was, but he guessed she was looking at the Ukranian stuff on the menu. He decided to be pleased with himself. She was practically purring.

He ordered a big plate of pierogis, and found out that the gola-something thing she'd said was the cabbage rolls, which she smiled down at, before digging in.

"So I did good?" Tony asked.

"Very," Natasha said.

"OK, next time you can't sleep, you tell JARVIS to find me, and we'll come back here. Or anytime whenever, I can do pierogis at any hour of the day, just about."

"That sounds like an excellent plan.

 


	13. At the Gym

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Hogan and Natasha meet in the gym.

Happy is finishing up his physical therapy exercises when she walks in. “Hey Nat,” he calls out. She gives him the small smile he’s learned to interpret as an all out grin. He likes her. He likes having all the Avengers here in the Tower, here in New York (where you can get a decent bagel, where they can help rebuild the city instead of sitting in California worrying about it, and where they can all share the work of keeping an eye on Tony Stark with Happy and Pepper). Happy sits back with a grunt, mops his face with his towel.

“Man, I hate rehab,” he mutters, half to himself.

She lowers herself to the mat a few feet away from him, quirks one corner of her mouth in a sympathetic grimace and begins to stretch.

They stretch in companionable silence.

She flows gracefully to her feet when she has completed her warm up. He rises considerably less gracefully. He hates rehab. But he’s working on staying patient with the slow progress.

As she heads towards the weights and he gets ready to leave the gym, they walk past the punching bags, sparring pads and gloves.

“Hey, do you wanna spar, Nat?” he asks. She turns to him, and for a split second, he feels creaky, and sweaty, and awkward, and stupid for even daring to ask. For a split second, all he sees is her Black Widow face, the intent, scary face she wore just before she laid him (and his ego) out flat on the boxing ring that time.

But then, she tilts her head to one side, with that tiny not-tiny smile again. And she raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps we could try.... some tae bo?”

There’s another split second of silence, he can’t read her at all.

But he can’t help the great big guffaw of laughter that bubbles up straight from his belly.

And she’s laughing too, her smile seeping out into a full fledged grin, punctuated by a rich, throaty laugh. She catches her breath, composes her features for an instant, but she can’t hold it together. Natalie-Natasha-The Black Widow....She’s flat out giggling. (She snorts when she laughs! How awesome is that?) And he’s back on the floor, his banged-up legs and ribs having decided he can stand, or laugh that hard, but he doesn’t get to do both.

When he has caught his breath, he looks up at her, and her own laughter gradually subsiding. Still smiling, no, grinning, she offers a hand, and lifts him to his feet.

“I have never tried ‘tae bo,’” she tells him, and he hears the air quotes in her voice, winces inwardly, remembering that he was really a jerk to her. He deserved getting knocked down hard.

“Yeah, me either,” he acknowledges.

“Krav maga, on the other hand...” she muses.

He looks down at her, curious. “Yeah? I’ve never tried that,” there’s a pause where he tries not to be awkward. “Hey,” he says. “In a couple weeks, I think they’re going to clear me of this physical therapy stuff. Do you... think... would you be willing to... teach me a little bit? I mean... if you’re not busy saving the world...”

She gives him that grin again. “I think that could be arranged.”

“I’m going to need you to go easy on me though,” he adds.  
And Happy heads for his ice packs, feeling more cheerful than he has in days.


End file.
